Pureblood Traditions:
by The Ferryman
Summary: Or, how Hermione Granger usurped the role of the Boy-Who-Lived, circumvented the plans of Albus Dumbledore, instructed Lucius Malfoy in proper etiquette, undid the Greatest Dark Lord of Them All, and saved her parents, over a cup of tea and without setting off the Trace.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

~~/^\~~

"No," Hermione said.

"I don't think you have considered the gravity of your situation," Lucius said silkily.

"I have," Hermione said. "Your son is slightly less subtle than a Hungarian Horntail in downtown London, and about twice as clever as a flobberworm."

"How dare you," Lucius hissed.

"Our second year you bought the Slytherin Quidditch team a matched set of Nimbus 2001 racing brooms. I'll grant you the curtesy of not saying that _you_ felt the need to bribe Marcus Flint."

Lucius paused. "Draco got onto the team on his own merits."

"Oh please," Hermione scoffed. "I care little for the game but even I can see his skill-set is far better suited for that of Chaser, though his borderline narcissistic personality obviates against a team-centric playstyle. Flint, however, is hardly a mental giant. Ronald Weasley could have manipulated him. Getting Flint to believe that the brooms _were_ a bribe to ensure that Draco got his desired spot—or, at least, would…disappear if he did not—would have, barely, been within the boundaries of his capability. Frankly, I'm torn between Draco not realizing the damage he was doing to his own position with such a ham-handed move, or his obsessive need to better Harry that drove him to disregard what little good sense he has.

"If Draco is my contact I'll be outed in a week. That, in turn, will do your 'Lord' no good and _will_ get my parents killed. You should thank me, really, I'm doing your House a favor."

"How dare—"

"How long do you think it would be before Draco presumed upon his position to try to extort me further?" Hermione asked coolly. "Homework? His transfiguration essays are generally abysmal. Sexual favors? Maybe say something he thinks is witty in front of Harry or Ron and spends the next week in the Hospital Wing getting half his bones regrown, assuming he doesn't say something where I'd be forced to make a choice between gelding him or giving this whole charade away by _not_ gelding him.

"If your Lord wants my compliance I will need three things. If you are unprepared to grant them, you may as well kill me or torture me or whatever it is you do to 'mudbloods'. Or, I suppose, you could take me to your 'Lord' and let me explain why your plan won't work."

"What 'things'," Lucius spat.

"First, I'll need proof that my parents are still alive," Hermione said. "Not just once, reoccurring."

"The Dark Lord thought you might request such," Lucius said. He reached into a pocket and took out a wizarding photograph that he thrust into her hand.

Hermione took is and tried to swallow quietly. Her mother and father, both clearly terrified, looked back at her over that morning's copy of the Daily Prophet.

"I see two people that look like my parents," she said, forcing her voice to remain level as she looked up at Lucius. "For all I know, they are friends of yours using polyjuice."

"Polyjuice requires a living donor," Lucius said snidely.

"True. But this photo also does not prove that they have not been kissed by a dementor or crucio'd into a vegetative state." Hermione's voice was detached, almost clinical as her mind whirled. "For that matter, my parents could just as well be dead and the paper charmed to show me what I expect to you want my compliance I need _proof_ that my parents are alive and in reasonably good health.

"Second. I need proof that once this scholastic year is over my parents _will_ be returned healthy and relatively unharmed and that once they are returned, you, your 'Lord', the rest of his minions, and whatever boot-lickers he draws to him will leave us alone in whichever country we decide to relocate to. I will need proof that regardless of what happens to me my parents will be released unharmed. And I will need a great deal of money. Let's see, Aimes was paid three hundred thousand dollars a year, so, say, a quarter million pounds times the average lifespan of a witch—shall we call it two hundred just to be even?—so fifty million pounds, some in various muggle banks, some in specie."

"I beg your—"

"Treason isn't cheap, Mister Malfoy. If I do this little task for you and your 'Lord' it is unlikely I will ever be able to find employment. Therefore, I expect to be amply recompensed for the sacrifices you are demanding I make for you. Speaking of, it is likely that over the course of the year I will be required to purchase items to further your objectives. Would you prefer I pass along copies of my receipts to your contact, or will you furnishing me with an expense account at Gringotts?

"Third. I need a contact who actually has a few brain cells. Someone capable of acting professionally, who will be able to give me answers to any questions I may have in a reasonable time frame. Also, it would be nice if it wasn't someone likely to end up dead, crippled, disappear, comatose, petrified, possessed, or otherwise disabled for any lengthy period of time. And while you are providing those proofs, you might as well and include one that I won't be held responsible if, for example, my contact is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and he or she ends up dead two-thirds of the way through the year, resulting in a termination of communication between us."

~~/^\~~

Lord Voldemort's skin had a slimy sort of pasty pallor, like the belly of a dead fish, or the skin of a body that'd been two weeks in the water. His head lacked hair, even eyebrows, with weak features, bare slits for a nose, and thin, barely-present lips. His frame was tall and spindly, but folded like a giant spider where he sat in one of the parlor's deep-set wingback chair sipping tea from a cup that he held with fingers that were too long and had an extra joint.

"Will you be seated?" Lucius asked with ill-hid distaste.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said sweetly. "You have a beautiful home." She swept past him and took the chair opposite the Dark Lord. She placed two tiny sandwiches onto an equally tiny plate and accepted tea from a house-elf that disappeared as quickly as it could. She tasted the food, sipped the tea, then addressed the other 'guest'. "Your pardon, but how do I address you?"

One hairless eyebrow lifted slightly. "You do not fear me?"

"I am quite terrified, actually," Hermione said evenly. "Would gibbering in fear convince you to release my parents unharmed?"

"No." Flat, empty.

"I thought not," Hermione said. She paused a moment, "so should I address you as 'You-Know-Who' to your face, or the mundane forms of address appropriate to a lord?"

"You may address me as Lord Voldemort, and sir thereafter."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Voldemort," Hermione replied. "Some call me Hermione Granger, but I think, under the circumstances, I would prefer Ms. Granger."

"Tell me, Ms. Granger," Voldemort said in a silky voice, "why I should not have you tortured for your temerity in demanding this meeting."

"I'm afraid, sir, that we haven't much time to make a proper go of it if we did," Hermione replied. "And we do have a great deal to discuss. On the other hand, from a purely academic standpoint, the both of us having tasted of Mr. Malfoy's hospitality, it might be rather interesting were you to do so."

"You dare—"

"Sit _down_ , Lucius. Ms. Granger is quite correct. Let us observe the niceties," Voldemort hissed.

Lucius instantly bowed and slowly lowered himself into a chair at right angles to Hermione and Voldemort.

"Mister Malfoy tells me that you are…unsatisfied with the terms of your employment," Voldemort said.

"You hired me in a way that I could not easily refuse, sir," Hermione replied. "That does not, however, mean that I intend to go about my job in shoddy manner that he presupposed. For that matter, I am still not adequately convinced of my parents' good health."

"I had your word that you showed her the photograph, Lucius," Voldemort sighed.

"I did," Lucius replied.

"I confirmed independently that my parents were still alive," Hermione said. "That does not preclude them from having been kissed by a dementor or various other means of permanent impairment."

"Hence the photograph," Voldemort said.

"Which could be staged using polyjuice potion," Hermione said. "Since I was able to brew it in my second year I am fairly convinced you have a potion master capable of producing it. Polyjuice only requires that the donor-host be alive while the potion is in effect. Or the photographic paper could have been ensorcelled to produce a vision of what I expected to see. I could come up with a half-dozen other means of producing the same effect that do not require my parents to be alive and healthy of mind and body and spirit."

"I'm sure I could arrange a reunion outside the aegis of Lucius'…hospitality."

"Thank you, sir. No," Hermione replied.

"You refuse?" Voldemort asked.

"An emotionally-fraught reunion is something neither you nor I can presently afford," Hermione replied. "And without magical testing it could simply be persons under the influence of polyjuice. Veritaserum or any other number of truth potions should be sufficient to ferret out any key details I might ask to assuage myself of their identities."

"Paranoia is unbecoming in one so young," Voldemort chided.

"Excuse me, sir?" Hermione asked archly. "Are you not holding my parents hostage in order to force me to spy on my best friend whom you fully intend to murder? I would think I have the right to be at least a little paranoid."

"Perhaps," Voldemort mused.

"You have two weeks," Hermione said.

"You dare presume give me terms?" Voldemort hissed.

"If you cannot secure adequate proof in two weeks, sir, why should I believe that my parents are healthy or that you have any intention of releasing them?" Hermione countered. "Granted, two weeks gives me more time to prepare my contingency plans, but you know that I'd be working on those regardless over the next year."

Voldemort slowly sat back in his chair.

Malfoy, however, leaned forward. "What contingency plans?" he asked dangerously.

Hermione spared him a glance. "Right now the Ministry has done a fair job suppressing Headmaster Dumbledore's announcement of Lord Voldemort's return. His best avenue for global dissemination, the ICW, was removed when Minister Fudge recalled Dumbledore as Britain's representative. Fudge cares about his job and sticking his head in the sand means he doesn't need to make any difficult decisions in order to keep it. Lord Voldemort is, no doubt, content to work behind the scenes to improve his position. I am uncertain of Dumbledore's strategy but assume it is similar. At the very least all three major players seem content with the current status quo. My current contingency plan is to upset it as much as I possibly can.

"When you kidnapped my parents you bypassed what magical protections I was able to put up. Not surprising, given I had to sneak them past the Trace. However, you completely overlooked the _muggle_ security systems. Evidence of at least your criminal activities, Mr. Malfoy, and certainly your statements implying Lord Voldemort's revivification. That data is no longer in my possession, and the way I arranged things I do not know who received it, and that person does not know to whom it was passed.

"If I am not examined by a wizard or witch I have never met, and for whom I have neither description nor name, and found to be myself and free of any compulsion, coercion, or duress, save for the fact that you hold my parents hostage, that data will be simultaneously released to fifty major magical news organizations world-wide, as well as muggle law enforcement."

"You'd risk the statutes of secrecy?" Lucius demanded.

"I wasn't the one who used magic on muggles," Hermione replied evenly.

"Your…contingency will inconvenience me," Voldemort said, "perhaps a great deal. But it will bring down Fudge, or at least provoke him into unwise action. Clever."

"Thank you, sir. I'll take that as a high complement. But I would be remiss if I did not inform you that Mr. Malfoy taught me well."

"I did no such thing," Lucius snarled.

"The Minister's habit of unwise action," Hermione replied. "Our second year, when you manipulated Fudge into removing Hagrid."

Voldemort's lips twitched. If there had been more of them it might, almost, have been a smile. "Very well. Within two weeks' time you shall have proof of your parents' good health, and assurance that they, and you, will be released alive and unharmed, and that you shall not be further pursued by myself, or those loyal to me."

"I will need regular assurance throughout the year," Hermione said.

"Of course. On the matter of your expenditures…"

"I can either curtail my customary purchases to pay for any incidentals that come up and risk someone asking questions that we both would rather avoid, or I can be furnished with an expense account, or I can save copies of my receipts and be reimbursed," Hermione said flatly.

"Sensible. An account, I think, Lucius. See to it."

"I'll want receipts," Lucius warned.

"I'll provide them to our contact," Hermione replied. "My payment. I have a list of muggle banks. If you wish to place it in escrow that's fine, but I will need assurances that it will be released at the end of the year."

"You presume much."

"Both you, and Mister Malfoy, referred to this as 'employment', sir. An employee is paid. Compensation usually indexes to the conditions, danger, degree of difficulty, and other factors. In this case, and in no particular order, I am to be working for someone who openly advocates for my death because I am a witch, I am to betray my closest friend in furthering said employer's goals which happen to include treason and sedition, and possibly the destruction of the Statutes of Secrecy if the more outlandish theories about your end-goal being world-wide domination of magical and muggle worlds are to be believed. Need I continue?"

"No. See to it, Lucius."

"I will establish a Gringotts vault—"

"Muggle bank please, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said.

"What's wrong with Gringotts?" Lucius sniffed.

"Goblins."

"Ah, the high and mighty ideals of the _muggle_ -blood," Lucius sneered.

"I trust goblins to work in their own best self-interest," Hermione said levelly. "Muggle banks, however, are obligated to work in their _clients'_ best interest."

"See to it, Lucius," Voldemort repeated.

"If I must," Lucius said in disgust.

"Will that suit, Ms. Granger?" Voldemort asked.

"Perfectly."

"Is there anything else we need address?"

"Two points," Hermione said. "Specifically, my point of contact, and what you hope to get out of me."

"Is Lucius' son not satisfactory?"

"I hesitate to answer, sir, lest Mr. Malfoy take offense on his heir's behalf."

"Answer," Lucius snapped.

"As you insist, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said with a very slight bow. "Draco is about thrice as cunning as Hagrid, but only half as subtle. He is far too likely to give it away, either through his lack of subtlety, or a desire to… _modify_ the terms of my employment."

"I see. Very well, another contact will be made available. Now, what part of my instructions about your duties were…unclear."

"None," Hermione said. "I am, however, uncertain how much you anticipate receiving and want assurances that factors outside of my control won't compromise our agreement. For example, last year we fully thought until the last moment that the extent of outside aggression was someone entering Harry into the Tournament on the off-chance the challenges killed him. Our first year we thought Professor Snape was after the Philosopher's Stone, and the year after I spent four months petrified curtesy of Slytherin's pet basilisk."

"You know of the basilisk?" Voldemort demanded. "Tell me?"

Lucius paled.

Hermione looked at him and frowned slightly, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Girl—Ms. Granger," Voldemort bit out.

"Your pardon, sir," Hermione said quickly. "A Housemate of mine ended up possessed by a student from fifty years ago, and set the basilisk loose on the school. A number of students were petrified, and Lucius was able to temporarily have Dumbledore removed as a Headmaster."

"What happened?" Voldemort demanded. The room had cooled markedly, and the cream for the tea had begun to curdle.

"As I said, I spent several months petrified. I figured out it was a basilisk after a number of students were petrified and some research in the library, and I made an educated guess as to how it was moving around. I was going to the Headmaster's office and using a mirror see around corners and, well, the mirror saved my life, but I was left petrified. Harry confirmed that I was right about it being a basilisk and that it was using the pipes, but I didn't press him for details. The rumor mill mostly agreed that Harry had killed the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, and most of them mentioned destroying or disenchanting some fearsome dark artifact."

" _Potter_ opened the Chamber of Secrets?" Voldemort asked.

"No," Hermione said slowly. "The student who was possessed. Ginevra Weasley. I'm certain Mr. Malfoy could explain. It was his plot after all. The enmity between himself and the Weasleys is well-known." She looked at Lucius, then back at Voldemort. "It appears I was mistaken. I had _thought_ it an attempt by Mr. Malfoy to simultaneously remove Dumbledore from Hogwarts and castrate a political rival by setting up his daughter as the scapegoat for attacks on muggleborns."

Voldemort said nothing.

"My Lord—"

"Some years ago I entrusted to you a book, Lucius," Voldemort said, slowly hissing the sibilants. "Where is it?"

"My Lord, I—"

"Where is it?"

"My Lord, please, if you will just let me explain—"

Voldemort stood, his hand whipping out like a striking viper, his wand appearing in his hand like suddenly bared fangs. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Green light whispered towards Lucius Malfoy, then abruptly curved back and struck a very surprised Voldemort in the chest.

The Dark Lord instantly collapsed to the floor, his wand rolling away and coming to rest at Hermione's feet.

Hermione sipped her tea and tried to get her breathing under control as Voldemort dissolved.

"I—"

The normally unflappable Lucius Malfoy was decidedly _flapped_ , Hermione thought.

"You did this," Lucius said hollowly.

"Hardly," Hermione scoffed. "Tradition has meaning, Mr. Malfoy. Isn't that your argument against us 'dirty mudbloods'? That we have no respect for wizarding tradition?"

Malfoy glowered at her.

"Well, when you have your son flopping around going 'when my father' all the time as an example of proper wizarding culture, that culture and those traditions become very easy to scoff at it," Hermione continued. "Also, Hogwarts lacks a decent course—or even a very poor course—on wizarding culture, although I lay that failing on the Board of Governors."

"If you have a point, come to it quickly."

"I'm going to assume that the Dark Lord wasn't actually invested with his lordship. That it was entirely self-bestowed? Which means that even if you took oaths of vassalage they probably wouldn't have been magically enforceable. As it is, he was in your home, presumably at your invitation, and he'd eaten your food and drunk your drink."

"Draco always said you never understood the meaning of the word 'quickly'."

"He was your guest, under the old laws. And he attacked his host."

Lucius didn't speak for a long while. Hermione poured herself more tea. Then she poured a second cup which she handed to him.

"What now?" he asked after a long while.

"Now you release my parents from your dungeon and we leave. If you want my advice, I'd suggest going to Dumbledore."

Lucius glared at her.

"That wasn't a normal death, so presumably it was a reprise of whatever befell him the last time the world thought him dead. When he comes back it is unlikely that he's going to forgive the _second_ person he's been unable to kill with that curse. Dumbledore's your best chance to make certain he's dead for keeps before he resurrects a second time, and also your best chance of protection just in case he does."

With that Hermione finished her tea. "It has been an interesting afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. For that, I thank you. But I think the time has come that I should collect my parents and be on my way."

"Indeed," Lucius said as he slowly stood. "Ms. Granger…" he ground out the name, and the words that followed came no more easily. "How do you know your parents are healthy?"

"You were putting too much effort into convincing me they were," Hermione replied. "I can think of, oh, perhaps a half-dozen ways to fool me. I am sure you came up with many more, and ways to circumvent them. But something to best them all, when I can't use my wand until school starts?"

Lucius' nostrils flared then. "You set me to an impossible task."

"Not impossible, just difficult. If they hadn't been reasonably healthy you would have just picked something hard to detect and made _me_ work at proving it wasn't them. As it was, your need to prove that they were fine led to…" she reached down and picked up Voldemort's wand. "Shall we then?"


End file.
